


Angel's Christmas Wish

by White Queen Writes (fhartz91)



Series: Anti-Christmas Zine 2020 [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas, Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, Fluff, Gift Giving, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Canon, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:16:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28302945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/White%20Queen%20Writes
Summary: Crowley doesn't know what to get his angel for Christmas. It becomes such an issue, it creates a time-loop, forcing Crowley to re-live the day until he gets it right.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Anti-Christmas Zine 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2072664
Comments: 8
Kudos: 55
Collections: AntiChrist-mas Zine Collection





	Angel's Christmas Wish

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Anti-Christmas zine 2020 :)

_“Oh, Aziraphale … darling …” A soft pause. A hard swallow. “Look at me, angel … please …”_

_Aziraphale’s eyelids flutter open - nerves and self-doubt fighting to keep them shut. And they almost win. It’s hard to be seen this way - vulnerable, open, full of this beautiful demon who’s doing his level best to please him, to fulfill his every desire._

_And he’s succeeding._

_Which is why opening his eyes is so hard._

_Opening his eyes would mean letting Crowley see into him, expose the fact that he wants this, everything about it - the sacred connection between hearts and souls._

_The carnal connection between skin and skin._

_But Crowley’s pleas to him are so sweet, Aziraphale can’t deny him._

_He stares up at his demon, eyes glistening with tears._

_“There you are,” Crowley whispers. “I thought you might have disappeared on me.”_

_“Never, my dear. I’m right here. I’m with you. And I always will be.”_

_Crowley sweeps a thumb underneath Aziraphale’s eye and collects a single tear. He brings it to his lips and kisses it away. Then he leans in and kisses his angel again._

_Aziraphale didn’t know he’d started crying but he can’t help himself. It’s not a habit of his. He’s not a ninny. But this moment, this one right here, with Crowley hovering over him, arms wrapped around him, moving with him in a slow rhythm, is the most magical moment of his entire existence._

_From where this night began to where it ended up, this is nothing short of a miracle in Aziraphale’s eyes …_

_***_

“Dearest? Why do you look so glum?” Aziraphale asks, handing Crowley a glass of champagne. “It’s Christmas!”

“Of course, it’s _Christmas_!” Crowley grumps, grabbing the glass from Aziraphale’s hands and knocking the alcohol back in one go. “It’s always _Christmas_!”

Aziraphale stutters a laugh, staring at Crowley as if his demon has suddenly gone bonkers. “What on earth do you mean _it’s always Christmas_? It isn’t always Christmas. Christmas only comes around once a year!”

“Not for us, it doesn’t,” Crowley mutters. “For some strange reason, we’ve been through this over a hundred times!”

“We as in the world? Or we as in you and me?”

“ _The world!_ And no matter what, I still get it wrong!”

Aziraphale watches Crowley rearrange his legs underneath him on the sofa. He gets up and paces, then sits down again. Aziraphale waits a moment longer before he comes up with a response. It’s not Crowley’s words that give him pause. It’s the tone of his voice, his body language. What he’s saying may sound ridiculous, but from the way he’s behaving - taking an anxious lap around the room with his shoulders tensed and his hands shoved into his pockets, as if waiting for a bomb to drop - Aziraphale can’t do much of anything other than believe him.

“You’re going to have to forgive me but I don’t understand,” he says, fishing for clarity. “This is the first Christmas we’ve spent together. Well, spent together as a couple. There was that one year …”

“No! No, it isn’t!” Crowley interrupts before Aziraphale can derail the conversation. “I don’t know what’s going on, Aziraphale, or how! I honestly don’t! But this is the 132nd Christmas we’ve spent together! We exchange gifts, have dinner, go to bed, wake up, and it’s Christmas all over again! And I can’t figure out _why_!” Crowley drops onto the sofa and buries his head in his hands.

“Oh,” Aziraphale says, topping off his demon’s glass, then taking the seat beside him. “Well, that … that is a puzzler … isn’t it?”

***

_“I love you, Aziraphale,” Crowley utters. “I love you, I love you, I love you, I …” He doesn’t necessarily have Aziraphale’s attention, but it’s like the words aren’t for him to hear. Just for Crowley to say. But in the quiet of the room, Aziraphale does hear them._

_“You know, my dear,” he says into the crook of Crowley’s neck, “if you had told me a year ago that we would finally get to this point, I would have thought you’d gone mad.”_

_“I was going mad,” Crowley admits. “Every time I saw you, I dropped hints like they were breadcrumbs and you … well, you never seemed to notice.”_

_‘Hints?’ Aziraphale’s brow wrinkles, thinking back on their every interaction, every conversation, trying to discern when Crowley had dropped any hints of any kind. Aside from saving those books from that church bombing (which may have made up for any hints Aziraphale missed) he is pressed to remember a single one._

_“They must have been subtle,” Aziraphale deduces out loud._

_“I was trying not to be too forward. Demon, you know.”_

_“Yes, my dear,” Aziraphale says with a fond sigh for his ridiculous lover._

_Crowley chuckles. Then his brow wrinkles as well. “Wait … did you say finally?”_

_“Yes. I did.”_

_“But that would mean you thought we would get to this point eventually.”_

_“You did, too. What with all your hint dropping.”_

_“No, I didn’t know,” Crowley argues. “I hoped.”_

_Aziraphale pushes lightly on Crowley’s shoulders, tilting his head to look into his eyes. “I knew,” he says softly. “Deep down inside, I have always known.”_

_***_

“Do you have any leads?” Aziraphale asks, getting caught up in the excitement of this mystery, even as his poor demon wallows in the angst.

“I think …” Crowley begins, tapping his heel on the floor as he thinks “… it’s the present.”

“What about the past? And the future? If we’re repeating time …”

“No no no!” Crowley interrupts. “Not the _present_ present! The present _present_!”

Aziraphale frowns. “What?”

“Present as in _gift_. My gift to you.”

“But I love my present!” Aziraphale gushes, putting a hand to his waistcoat pocket and retrieving the gift Crowley gave him. “This is a perfectly beautiful pocket watch! No little screens or beeping buttons. Just a simple, elegant piece of machinery.”

“That’s just it! It is a _perfectly beautiful_ pocket watch! And it’s just the kind of thing you’d appreciate. But it’s obviously not _the_ thing! Not the _right_ thing! Yesterday, I gave you a _perfectly beautiful_ book of poetry …”

“Oh! Who wrote it?” Aziraphale asks, eyes gleaming.

“Wat? Uh … Byron, I think.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale replies, slightly disappointed.

“Wat? Wat’s wrong with Byron?” Crowley asks, curious if this could be the reason why they’re here today. If he can find out what’s wrong with his presents, then he can get Aziraphale the right one and the two of them the Heaven out of this mess!

“Nothing’s wrong with Byron. It’s simply that … well, I like your writing better.”

Crowley scoffs in frustration.

Nope. That didn’t help him at all.

“And the day before that, it was a _perfectly beautiful_ bottle of 1947 Cheval-Blanc. Every gift I’ve given you has been _perfectly beautiful_ in your own words. But it’s not, because I wake up every morning and here we are again, celebrating Christmas! And I want to move on from here, Aziraphale! I want to go forward with you! How do I do that? How do I break the loop?”

***

_Crowley’s body is exceptional._

_Simply exquisite._

_If Azirapahle didn’t know for a fact that Crowley had refined his corporation himself, he would say that Crowley’s body is the Almighty’s best work._

_Aziraphale knows things like physical beauty aren’t supposed to be important, but the fact of the matter is Crowley has created a facade that is not only pleasing to the eye, but which fits his personality to a T._

_If one wanted an accurate first impression of the demon Crowley, they would not want to look to his true form, but into the eyes and winning smile of this glorious creature._

_Unlike Hastur. That rotting, maggot-ridden, gray-skinned ghoul with the soulless black eyes?_

_That’s who Duke Hastur truly is._

_Aziraphale can’t stop looking at his demon’s body._

_Not to mention the things he can do with it._

_Aziraphale supposes that’s part and parcel with being a demon - knowing how to inspire lust._

_But the things Crowley is doing to him, the way he makes him feel …_

_… Aziraphale, with his vast knowledge of human linguistics, can’t seem to find the words for._

_There are no words powerful enough to describe the sensation of Crowley’s lips on his skin, or his hands feeling out erogenous zones Aziraphale never realized existed. These corporations they use to fit in on earth, they are so frail. So delicate from the standpoint of a supernatural entity. When he first got his, he had to take great care always not to harm the thing._

_But that became easier the more he grew to love it._

_Apparently God made up for the frailty of the human body by giving them this incredible gift of physical intimacy. And for humans especially, an intimacy with no purpose other than for two beings to simply enjoy one another._

_And Aziraphale is grateful that he gets this opportunity to sample it._

***

“If you ask me, I would say that we’re stuck in a loop _you’ve_ created, since you’re the only one who seems to know it exists,” Aziraphale says, sounding utterly nonplussed by the whole sticky affair. “Therefore, only you can break it.”

“But how!? What am I missing? What is the right thing? What do I need to give you that I haven’t given you already?”

Aziraphale looks down into his flute of bubbling alcohol and smiles a wistful little smile. “Oh, my dear, that’s just the thing.”

“Wat do you mean?” Crowley asks, poised on the brink of desperation. He may have created this loop, but he very much believes that angel holds the key to shattering it. “ _Wat’s_ the thing?”

“You don’t need to give me anything. Nothing you would purchase in a store, at least.”

“Wat … wat else is there?” Crowley asks, perplexed.

Aziraphale turns his body towards him, leans in a hair closer, and looks deep into his eyes. “Think,” he says. “A little harder.”

***

_“I’m yours, you know …” Crowley whispers through a veil that sounds like tears.._

_“What’s that, dear?”_

_“I’m yours.” He sniffs. “Have been. For as long as we’ve known one another. No …” Crowley wipes his left cheekbone with the back of his hand. “No, since the moment I saw you standing on that blasted wall. It’s the most ludicrous, most inconceivable thing in the world for me to say. There were so many times I thought I was lying to myself. But it’s true. Ever since then, Aziraphale …” Crowley stops, looks at Aziraphale to make sure he hasn’t lost him in his confession._

_The smile on his angel’s face tells him that’s not likely._

_“I’m yours,” he repeats._

_“How come you never told me?”_

_Crowley shrugs. “Would it have made any difference? You’re an angel. I’m a demon. We aren’t exactly a perfect match.”_

_“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, my love,” Aziraphale says, putting a hand to his demon’s cheek. “We are a perfect match. And I know this because I’ve been yours as well … you foul fiend.”_

***

Crowley shakes his head. “I don’t understand.”

“Well, my dear …” Aziraphale clears his throat but tightens his jaw, what he’s about to say making him a bit uncomfortable “… at the end of any of these loops, have you made love to me?” He clears his throat again, his cheeks warming, glowing pink.

“Oh …” Crowley hadn’t expected that. He sits up, which moves him away from his angel - which wasn’t his intention “… uh … n---no. No, I haven’t.”

“Then you’re right.” Aziraphale dares to shimmy closer with his cheeks burning now. “You haven’t found the thing yet. Because, to be quite honest … that’s what I wanted. Th---that’s what I was hoping for.”

“You want me … to make love to you? For Christmas?”

“O---only if you want to. I would never assume … or imply … which is to say, I wouldn’t want to force you to …”

***

_“Oh Gahhh …!”_

_“Don’t say it!” Aziraphale hushes, giggling. “The consequences of that could be disastrous!”_

_“I know, I know. It’s just … I think I understand.”_

_“Understand what?”_

_“Why humans call out her name … during sex, I mean. Making love … it’s kind of like praying, isn’t it?”_

_Aziraphale swallows hard, fear pooling in his stomach with the thought that now that Crowley has come to that realization, he’ll never want to do this again. “Do you hate it?”_

_“No. Not at all. Not so long as I’m with you.”_

_***_

Aziraphale doesn’t finish his sentence.

Not because he falters.

But because Crowley’s mouth on his takes his breath away.

“I am … so stupid,” Crowley says against his angel’s lips, unwilling to leave his mouth. “I never realized. I should have told you,” he confesses between kisses - to Aziraphale’s mouth, to his cheeks, to the soft curls surrounding his face, “so many times. I should have told you how I felt. How much I loved you. And I tried. I tried so hard to think of something I could give you that would let you know …”

Aziraphale puts a hand to his demon's cheek, stares into amber eyes he has seen - and _admired_ \- hundreds of times. But now, he feels like he’s looking into them for the very first time. “You don’t need to give me anything. All I want for Christmas ... is you.”


End file.
